


Ghost Hunt

by Seventeenthcircleofhell



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Alec Hardy & Ellie Miller Are Best Friends, Alec Hardy and His Broken Heart, Angst, Depression, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV Ellie Miller (Broadchurch)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-08 10:57:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20834339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seventeenthcircleofhell/pseuds/Seventeenthcircleofhell
Summary: Hardy ghosting her for days on end isn't exactly strange, but this time Ellie worries.





	Ghost Hunt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gayrightsalec](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayrightsalec/gifts).

> Dedicated to Emerson for this fantastic headcanon, and a healthy bit of projection.

* * *

Ellie was annoyed.

Although not entirely out of character for her most days, she was annoyed at one person in particular.

Alec Hardy.

Again, not out of character.

She'd really thought, after over a year of living in Broadchurch and getting to know the community, that he'd finally developed his severely lacking social skills. At least enough to know to actually show up at events he was planning on attending, or at the very least _call_ first to let her know he wasn't going to make an appearance.

She finds herself more disappointed than angry.

Still, never say Ellie Miller is anything other than a professional worrier. She knows she should at least check in on the knobhead to see if he's okay. While him not answering her texts or showing his face around town wasn't exactly off brand for him, she couldn't help the slight nagging in the back of her mind.

She was very quietly desperate to reach out to him, for reasons she didn't want to examine too closely.

She knocks four times on his sliding-glass door, making sure she wraps softly but loud enough to alert him of her presence. She's not trying to startle him, but irritation is beginning to win out over anxiousness the longer she's left to loiter outside.

_He's always been a stubborn git._

She knocks again, harder this time, letting him know she doesn't plan on leaving until he opens up.

Resilient as ever, she's still stood by the door after roughly six minutes (not that she's keeping count) of periodical knocking.

She suddenly hears a distant crash, loud enough to make her jump, but slightly muffled, as if it came from his tiny bedroom.

Appearing seemingly out of nowhere, the door begins to slide open; slowly, as if he's apprehensive to see who's on the other side.

As if it'd be anyone other than her calling for him.

"Aha, it lives! Finally remembered what to do after you hear someone knock then?" she says in an agitated huff, but she falters once she looks at him.

The nickname 'shitface' never seemed so fitting.

She takes a step back in her shock, and gives him a thorough once-over.

The greasy hair and thicker scruff isn't a suprise, although they're both more severe than she's ever seen on him. His clothes are rumpled and ill-fitting, hanging loosely over his seemingly-skeletal frame. He looks like he'd fallen asleep in his work clothes and hadn't had the energy to change them. This theory is backed up by the smell that comes off of him, and she knows for certain he's not set foot even near a shower for at least a week.

She looks back at his face. His eyes are sunken and red-rimmed, raw from crying and little sleep, dark bags hung like cresent moon bruises underneath them. Glassy and hollow.

"What do you want, Millahr?" he asks, and she thinks back to that first hospital visit; he'd had more fight in his voice on his death bed.

"Christ Hardy, are you alright?"

She expects him to protest against her concern, to demand he's fine and that she either says what she wants or leaves him to it. Instead, he just heaves a great sigh and scrubs his hand over his face.

They both stand staring, unsure of what to say to one another. What are you even supposed to say in a situation like this, showing up at your ex-boss-now-sort-of-friend's doorstep after he doesn't contact you for over a week and stands you up on plans?

They're either going to be stood here in tense silence until Hardy tells her what's going on, or she's going to have to ask herself. And because she knows Hardy, she knows it's going to have to be the latter.

"Where were you the other day? I get you're a bit of a hermit but even you should know to cancel plans you're not going to show up at. Mark and Beth were worried." _And so was I, _she thinks, but very purposely doesn't say.

Hardy's body sags even further in on itself, the final remnants of any resistance deflating out of him like an untied balloon being set free.

"Go away."

He reaches out like he's about to grab the door handle, ready to shut her out.

_Oh, not this time you wanker._

She takes a long stride forward, sending a silent prayer of thanks to Tom for slamming the door on her so many times she can sense when it's coming. She quickly darts past him and inside before he can stop her.

"What the hell are ya doin' Millahr?!" His exclamation falls on deaf ears as she looks around his home.

While the cabin has always been slightly cramped, there's usually an orderly fashion to the clutter. Right now however, she can't think of a more gentle way to describe it; it's a shithole, plane and simple.

Half-full glasses of water and cold mugs of tea litter every surface. Unwashed clothes line the floor in substitute of a carpet, and the kitchen sink is stacked so high with dirty bowls and plates they practically touch the ceiling. She soon detects the source of the crash sound when she sees another mug on his bedroom floor, smashed to pieces and the shards dripping in tea, leaking all over the floor. He'd haphazardly thrown a paper towel over it, like he didn't even plan to clean it up.

The curtains are drawn, and she rips them open with the same force it would have taken Moses to split the Red Sea by hand. Hardy let's out a hiss at the sun that comes spilling in through the window, highlighting the thick cloud of dust permeating the air.

Ellie turns around to face him, and the resigned look he gives her causes a painful twinge in her chest.

"Hardy?"

He's avoiding her eye, and looks like he's not entirely present in the room.

"Hardy?"

Again, no reply

"Alec?"

His head snaps up so fast it must've given him whiplash.

_Ah, so that gets his attention_.

She walks over to the sofa, picks up all the dirty clothes, and throws them onto another dirty pile on the back of a chair.

She gestures as the now-empty space. "Sit."

"Millahr-"

"Don't argue with me about this, sit down. I'm making us tea, and then we're gonna talk." Her tone leaves no room for argument. He knows this is a losing battle.

~

The kitchen is an absolute state, and she spends no more time in there than is absolutely necessary to finish cleaning a couple stray cups and making the tea, before moving back into the living room with an air of ease that is entirely artificial.  
  
He takes the tea from her with a grateful hum, and tries his best to hide his face behind it. The matted ends of his hair fall over his wide, dark eyes, and he looks so suddenly young and lost in that moment she could cry.  
  
"Hardy, what's happened?" Part of her doesn't want to know, terrified of what new tragedy of his she'll have to hear.  
  
"Nothin'", it's more a grumble than an answer.  
  
"Cut the shit Alec, tell me", she knows she sounds more desperate than angry, but he shows no acknowledgment of her rising panic. He just stares blankly into the contents of his mug.  
  
"Seriously Millahr, nothin' happened."  
  
He sounds sincere, but the answer makes no sense.  
  
"Well what's going on here then? It looks like a bomb's gone off."

He opens and closes his mouth a few times, looking rather like a befuddled gold fish while he tries to put his words together.  
  
"I dunno, I jus' have these days sometimes, where it's like my body's jus' too heavy to move, and I have to drag myself out of bed jus' to go for a piss. And breathin' in an' out is hard enough without havin' to sleep and eat and shower. What's tha point in any of those things anywae? Not like I wanna go out and face anybody "  
  
By the end of his spiel, it's all become abundantly clear to Ellie what's going on. She's mentally kicking herself for being so blind. She's a bloody _detective _for Christ's sake, she should've _known._

With no small amount of cynicism she thinks of the irony of the last piece of news Alec Hardy had given her that she'd never even considered.  
  
The internal re-evaluation of every interaction they've ever had is clearly written on her face from the look Hardy gives her in return.  
  
"Why didn't you say something?" She asks in just a breath above a whisper.  
  
"Didn't think it was important" is what he says.

_I didn't think you'd care_ sits unspoken in the space on the sofa between them.

That hurts more than she expected it to.  
  
She can't even blame him.  
  
"Oh, _Alec_...."

She's knows her voice is bleeding with sympathy, evident by the slightly disgusted frown that spreads over his face. It's the most emotion he's shown since she's arrived at his door, and she's conflicted on if she should be concerned or just relieved he still seems to be alive somewhere inside the shell he's become.

She's worried and confused and still the slightest bit angry, a permanent feeling where Hardy is involved. It's all blended into a rather unpleasant cocktail in her stomach, and she's cursing the day she started caring about this arsehole.

But she knows she can either let him sit and wallow in this shit-tip, or she can act.

"So-" she starts, and she's drawing the pieces back together, strengthening her resolve, ready to face all the stubborn bullshit she knows he's about to throw at her "-what're we going to do about this?"

Under different circumstances, the look of total perplexity he shoots her would've made her laugh.

"Wha' on earth are ya talking about?"

"I said-" she starts again, slower this time, "-what are we going to do about this? Do you have someone you can call? Doctor? Or a therapist maybe?"

He looks at her like she's lost her mind, and she can't help the stab of frustration at his incomprehension of a few basic questions. 

"All I have is you" he says in turn, completely calm but with a twinge of confusion, like he doesn't get why she's asking, as if it's simply a fact of the universe and not a heart-wrenching revelation on his part. 

_The grass is green, the sky is blue, and Ellie is all Alec has._

She tries not to let that thought choke her, but she feels a familiar prickle behind her eyes and barrels onwards quickly before Hardy can pick up on it.

"Well I've got a good therapist, I'll give you her number and you can call- no, no, stop being a stubborn arse and just call her" She could sense his objection like an oncoming train blowing steam in the distance, and she's sure as shit not giving up now she's gotten this far.

"Fine" he relents, and Ellie could've cheered.

"When was the last time you had something proper to eat?" She asks suddenly, the thought only just occuring to her.  
  
He gives her a guilty grimace before wiping it from his face. The speed in which he does so alarms her mildly.  
  
"Erm- it's been a few days" he mumbles into his mug, and she thinks back to the mountain of dirty plates and bowls; all half-full and stained with dried cereal and breadcrumbs. No remnants of a proper meal.  
  
_Well, that won't do at all._  
  
_Right._  
  
"Do you have any clean clothes?" She says with new purpose.  
  
"Should 'ave something in the wardrobe still."  
  
He heaves another great sigh and leans forward as if he's about to stand up and check, but all the energy trickles away and down the drain so quickly she feels like she can see it swill away. He leans back into the sofa, covering his face with his hands and absent-mindedly massaging his temples; just the thought of the task is enough to give him a headache, and she feels a few heartstrings twang like the snap of a violin bow.

"You go the the bathroom, wash yourself up a bit, and I'll go grab you something clean to put on. I'm not having you coming to my house in that state."

She moves swiftly around the room, picking up every dirty article of clothing she can see and throwing them on the kitchen floor in front of his washing machine. She stares back at his incredulous look, and he raises an eyebrow.  
  
"Millahr-" she scurries off into his bedroom to pick through his wardrobe for something fresh he can wear, and she can practically _feel_ the look on his face even with a wall between them.  
  
"What?" She calls out, determined to carry on while she's on a roll rather than stop to go talk face to face. She decides to clean up the shattered mug while she's in there.

When he doesn't reply, she rolls her eyes to herself in a rather theatrical manner for someone without an audience. Still, the exasperation she feels is real.  
  
Emerging from his bedroom to face him, holding a wooly jumper and a clean pair of socks, she suddenly feels pinned into place by his eyes alone, gazing at her like a puppy in trouble.  
  
"What're ya doin'?"

Any other day he'd have said it with an attitude. Now, however, he sounds so withdrawn, so absolutely _done_, that Ellie once again finds herself repressing tears.  
  
Instead, she throws the clothes vaguely in his direction and moves back into the kitchen to start cramming his flithy clothing into the washing machine.  
  
"What's it look like I'm doing? I'm helping you clean, and then we're gonna go back to mine and have dinner."  
  
She knows that's not what he's asking, and with Alec's imploring eyes trained on her she knows he knows it too. He lets it slide anyway, and just mumbles darkly in assent before heading to the bathroom, shuffling along like he has two anvils tied around his ankles.

  
  
When he comes back, looking no less miserable but the slightest bit more human, it's to find her loading his dishwasher, humming an absent tune.  
  
Something in him breaks at the sight, and the cracks in the dam let a little daylight through. He allows himself a stiff smile.

_Yeah_, he thinks, when she grins back at him brightly, _It's_ _alright for now._

**Author's Note:**

> "I used this as a form of procrastinating" stans RISE


End file.
